


Fleeting moments

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Impressions of after the fall, a journey with them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started this out as the story for the Murder-Husbands-Big-Bang that'll happen later this year but.... the story drew to its natural conclusion somehow. And since its nowhere close to what I signed up for there, you're getting it now^^

„Will you come with me?“

Will coughs, red droplets of blood mixing with the puddles of sea water in the gravelly sand, the swirling of the fluids mixing almost hypnotic.  
He pushes himself up on all fours, the pain a living thing, threatening to eat him alive and yet weirdly inconsequential against the decision that is so clear now. He forces the words out, slurred by the swelling in his wounded tongue, his smile a grimace, nonetheless echoed in Hannibals eyes, echoed in what he finally dares to see.

„Where else would I go?“

 

*******

 

Pain and fever madness, seeping in between the cracks. Almond eyes and cool hands, there and gone again. Pinpricks of needles and the swaying of a boat on sea. Breaths tickling his face, never far, red eyes, heavily lidded, watching him. The smell of copper and sweat and machine oil in the air, sometimes interrupted by a gush of saltwater air, sending shivers over his skin. Blessed darkness, bringing relief, accepted with a bone-deep exhilaration just before unconsciousness rushes up time and again, swallowing him whole.

 

*******

 

„Why did you resuscitate me, Will?“

Echoing silence between them. There is a gulf of feeling, throbbing with pain and denial and hurt, longing and … something more complicated that Will shies away from, turning his head into the pillow, eyes closing. Hannibal is so close he can feel the heat from his skin, the shared blanket leaving nothing much to imagination. The smell of them is pungent, weirdly satisfying on a purely primal level, permeating the small cabin fully by now. Will licks his lips, shaking his head slowly on the pillow, torturously turning towards Hannibal, onto his side, his shoulder screaming in pain with the motion. He pulls his hand up between them, close to his body, eyes opening slowly when he feels it against his chest. He raises his eyes to Hannibal’s, his hand pushing out slowly, up and over Hannibal’s heart, the hair there coarse under his palm.  
He locks his arm and presses for a moment, releasing a breath through his nose in a rush. The world wavers and his blink clears his vision again, the trail of the tear down Will’s cheek tracked, hungrily, the beat under his fingers drumming once, hard. Will closes his eyes again and lets himself fall towards unconsciousness again, anchored by the hands pressing his palm to Hannibal’s heart.

 

******

 

„Will you try to kill me again?“

Will mulls over the question silently, eyes closed, as they so often are now, the reality of Hannibal so near almost overwhelming in intensity. He purses his lips for a moment, knowing Hannibal will wait, eternally if need be, for the answer.  
He works his tongue in his mouth for a moment, testing the way the muscle works with the just healed scar tissue, throat unused to actually speaking. He has to try twice, grinning on the second attempt, sees the fleeting smirk on Hannibal’s face before both their expressions sober again, honest and brutally open, all masks washed away by now. 

„We are conjoined, Hannibal.“

He pauses, mulling over the next part again, heavy on his tongue. Hannibal exhales softly, his head inclining towards Will a bit, eyes intense.

„We are. Will you try to kill -us- again, then?“

Wills mouth drops open a bit, his jaw working, the words whispered, loud between them, relief following in their wake. 

„I did my dues…. I tried and… failed. I think I was reborn, reset if you will.“

Hannibals teeth flash for a moment, voice almost breathless.

„The chrysalis has broken.“

Will blinks slowly, the words forming on their own, manifesting by themselves.

„I am … myself.“

 

*******

 

A flash of gold, streaking through the air, swallowed by the waves. Surprisingly little guilt, tempered by the knowledge that theirs was ever only an escape, albeit an honest one, a bid for normalcy, doomed from the start.

„Goodbye, Molly.“

 

*******

 

„No.“

Hannibal pauses, turning up towards Will with a slightly calculating expression, the beast behind it clawing at the reins.

„I assure you, he was extremely rude, insulting us.“

Will blinks slowly, smiling softly, taking the sting out.

„No.“

He straightens up and pulls Hannibal’s wheelchair back, pushing back towards the noisy market, the wind carrying scents of unknown spices, his soul utterly free.

 

*******

 

„Hello Bedelia.“

Derision, heavy in the air, the meat tasting bitter on his tongue. He relishes it, allowing the satisfaction to run through him, to bathe in the adoration of this gift he gave to Hannibal, unasked. 

He closes the door behind them, leaving the last wife alive in the end, Hannibal reaching up lightly to touch his wrist as he pushes the wheelchair out, the sensation burning.

 

*******

 

„Will we ever talk about it?“

Will hesitates and then puts the book down, the gentle breeze pushing at his curls, glowing auburn in the golden sundown. 

„Talk?“

Will tilts his head, a sly expression crossing his face, there and gone again, leaving a teasing echo.

„We talk all the time…“

Hannibal tilts his head in a vaguely reptile like manner, taking a sip of the wine he cradles in one of the ornately decorated glasses they found in this house in his left hand, his right firmly holding on to the cane, his stance still heavily relying on the aid. Will grins at him, reaching for the whiskey on the side table, lazily swirling it around in his tumbler. He takes a sip, clicking his tongue after, his eyes on the horizon.

„What do you wish to talk about, Hannibal?“

Hannibal sits down carefully in the other lawn chair, cane propped up beside him, watching Will watching the sundown, long minutes of his gaze blanketing Will, anchoring. The question comes when the last rays fade, leaving a brilliant glow, fading into bluish blackness slowly.

„Tell me, Will, how does it feel to have successfully leashed me?“

Will laughs softly, shaking his head minutely.

„Have I leashed you?“

He sobers, swallowing once before turning towards Hannibal, offering his gaze.

„And successfully at that?“

Hannibal leans forward, his hand coming up, hesitating before bridging the gap, his fingers tracing the now healed scar on Will’s face gently, almost hidden by the beard. The touch stays until the warmth of the day has faded, providing the only warm counterpoint in the increasingly chilling air, the air between them crackling with intensity.

 

*******

 

The man is heavily built, his flesh bruising with the hits Will lets fall, his knuckles bleeding, breath coming in exhilarated pants, his mind a static red haze, body thrumming with adrenaline. He turns his gaze towards the unconscious woman after, carrying her up to the lobby of a nearby hotel, leaving her there, people fussing over her, stealing away again like a shadow. 

He returns to their house, dropping to his knees next to Hannibal, reading in an armchair, patiently waiting for him to return. He raises his hands in an offering, blood dripping to the floor, his palms cradling Hannibal’s cheeks when Hannibal bends down, inhaling deeply.

„We will need to move again.“

Hannibal turns his head a bit and presses a kiss to his left palm, his eyes burning when he raises them, evaporating all guilt.

 

*******

 

„They’re hunting us again.“

Hannibal hums, shrugging weirdly elegantly, his voice vaguely amused.

„They always will be, mylimasis. We have given them enough proof that we are alive after all.“

Will pulls a face, inspecting his barely healed again knuckles, the endearment resonating in him. Hannibal looks over to him from where he unpacks his suitcase, walking over slowly, his gait still vaguely stilted, despite the sessions of physiotherapy for them both. He sits down next to Will on the nondescript motel bed, the springs creaking. His hand comes up to push at a stray curl, and Will leans into him slightly, absorbing the energy. Hannibal leans close and breathes a kiss onto Wills temple, the sensation shuddering through Will. He pushes his sleeve back silently, offering his arm, the needle going in with a small prick, adding to the needle marks and bruises already there, Hannibal’s gift of legal forgiveness. The rush of drugs makes the mattress rush up, the sensation of Hannibal spooning up behind Will a grounding sensation, anchoring him to this reality. He takes Hannibals hands with heavy movements, pulling it up and over his heart, falling, falling, never touching ground.

 

*******

 

Hands shaking him, rushed, the tang of an unknown aftershave permeating his consciousness. Will frowns, trying to wake up properly, his mind sluggish. 

„Mr. Graham, wake up, we need to get out of here before he comes back!“

Will cackles, drily, letting himself be pulled up into a sitting position, his eyes slightly unfocused, the room swimming. He focuses on the man with an effort, his words slurred.

„Who are you?“

The man curses crudely and Will snorts, Hannibal’s probable reactions to this running through his mind. He refocuses when an ID is shoved into his field of vision, the words ‚private investigator‘ swimming in and out of focus. Will clicks his tongue, shrugging, the man still talking to him, words dampened somehow, drumming on the hazy drug induced bubble. The man shakes him again, hissing now.

„Come on, we need to go!!“

Will narrows his eyes, frowning, his words almost inaudible.

„There is nowhere else to go…“

The man frowns at him and Will raises a hand, clasping the mans shoulder. The man turns his head and scowls at it, diverting his attention and Will raises his other hand, the small knife dropping into his palm from his sleeve like an extension of his limbs, drawing red hot benediction forward, and Will gasps, closing his eyes, the heavy thud when the man drops to the ground jarring him back towards reality. 

He sighs, pushing himself up, placing the knife onto the counter across from the bed carefully, his clothes dropping to the ground uncaringly, motions on autopilot.  
The shower is cold, cleansing and Will watches himself for a long time in the mirror, the lines of his scars like cracks, a silvery kintsugi. He steps out of the bathroom when he hears the door close softly, stepping up to Hannibal uncaringly unclothed, toweling his hair. That gaze travels over him, appreciating, accepted and valued, shivering through him. Will drops the towel and reaches up, pushing Hannibals hat back, shrugging slightly.

„We’ll have to move again.“

Hannibal smirks, teeth flashing for a moment, and Will echoes it, leaning forward to ghost a kiss to Hannibals lips, the sensation feeling like a homecoming. Hannibals hands come up to gently hold him, tilting his head, just gliding, chastely, purely, the sharp coppery smell of the room a stark counterpoint. Will smiles brokenly, his soul hurting.

„I love you.“

Hannibal exhales a shuddering breath, his eyes flashing, his nose gently brushing over the skin under Will’s eyes.

„I know.“

 

*******

 

Warmth. 

A toe curling intensity to the way Hannibal keeps their kisses chaste, small tugging kisses and lingering pressure, mixing breath and need, arousal always smoldering between them now, carefully fanned and yet viciously kept at bay, clawing at the reins.

The train controller lies between them in small cabin, surprise still on his face, his neck broken by Hannibal within moments of seeing the recognition in his eyes. Will breaks the kiss and turns and watches the world fly by, his blood rushing in his ears.

 

*******

 

Heavy bass and beats, hitting him hard in his stomach. Hannibal walks in front of him, following the contact towards the back rooms and Will falls back, watching the crowd, his neck prickling. The antlers extend and thread through the room, pulsing blood red with the beat in his mind, realities and visions mixing seamlessly now. 

Beautiful bodies, sliding up to him, trying to entice him and Will smiles at them, softly, their faceless auras enveloping him, throbbing, a living, breathing thing. Blackness seeps back into the group around him and Will opens eyes he does not recall closing, swaying to the beat. Hannibal draws him near with hands on his waist and the world falls away, their heartbeats syncing up, reality slowing to a crawl. His name on Hannibals lips is like a prayer and Will opens his mouth, asking, silently, and the kiss, when it comes, is a hungry, livid, almost brutal thing, threatening to devour him alive. 

The crowd revolves around them, jealously, inconsequential, sensations reduced to the single point of fusion, burning their souls. 

Will lets his head fall back at some point, gasping, sees how Hannibal tracks his tongue wetting his lips, feels the pulse against his hip. He tightens his fists in Hannibals shirt, pulling him close, panted breaths into each others mouths. Will snarls, raising his chin slightly, voice almost inaudible.

„Take me home.“

 

*******

 

Tearing of cloth when they reach the house, the slam of the front door when Hannibal throws Will against it inside, pressing into him with his body. A sharp rut, the need too raw to be controlled just now. Hannibal eats Wills low scream, groaning sharply, the smell heavy in the air between them. Will scratches his nails over the Verger branding, hard, drawing blood, hissing when Hannibal latches onto his throat, teeth scraping.

Will lets his head fall back, Hannibal turning to suck on his jugular, probably turning his throat black and blue and Will could not care less, his body simmering in afterglow, arousal already ramping back up. He laughs lightly, shaking his head softly, a hand coming up to hold Hannibal there, voice trembling with amusement. 

„Took us only 7 years…“

Hannibal draws up slowly, nipping and brushing over Wills jaw before finding his mouth again, tongues stroking and gliding, deeply possessive. He mouthes on Wills chin for a moment when the kiss comes to an end, hands in a death grip on Wills waist. He steps back and then pulls Will after him by his fingers in the loopholes of Wills belt, drawing a chuckle from Will, stumbling after him. 

„The anniversary of our fall is tomorrow… Come, mylimasis, let us find the bathroom.“

 

******

 

Fingers, gliding through his hair, softly stroking his scalp. The very antithesis of the beast slumbering within, evidence of the vicious claws visible on Wills body in the early morning light. Other fingers, opening him, preparing him, the smell of sweat and them everywhere.

Will undulates, his body adapting slowly, his mind suffused with want. His mouth drops open, jaw still aching from earlier, when he chased the sounds raining from Hannibals mouth onto his head. He licks his lips, pleasure shuddering through him when Hannibal twists his fingers just so, gently chuckling against Wills sweaty back. Will pushes back against him and Hannibal drapes himself over him, holding, waiting, until Will joins them slowly, forcing himself back, a final piece slotting into place. Hannibal bends into Wills neck, his voice a harsh whisper, heavy with defiant vulnerability.

„I love you, Will.“

Will closes his eyes, his soul on fire and Hannibal takes them over the edge shortly after this, the fall only metaphorical this time, holding onto Will, hurling them towards oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> \----
> 
> Kudos and Comments feed my muse! <3  
> Let me know what you think?  
> Criticism is welcome!


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